


Long Under the Tree

by martial_quill



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aromantic Legolas, Asexual Legolas, Confused Thranduil, Gen, confused parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 00:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11242782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martial_quill/pseuds/martial_quill
Summary: Legolas belongs to the stars and the forest, the rivers and the moon. Thranduil and Galeniel require an explanation. Or: asexual, aromantic Legolas Greenleaf.





	Long Under the Tree

**Author's Note:**

> This story rests on the presumption that inheritance among Sindar is mostly patriarchal. Inheritance passed to a woman is possible, but uncommon. 
> 
> Sindarin: ‘ion nin’ – my son  
> naneth – mother  
> adar – father  
> Aranel – queen  
> elleth – female Elf  
> ellon – male Elf  
> Hannon le, Ada, Nana – Thanks, Mum, Dad

“You cannot be serious,” Legolas said, shaking his head.

His father’s eyebrows rose, green eyes hard. “Enlighten me, ion nin, as to why I cannot be serious about naming my only son as my heir.”

Legolas leaned against the wall of the chambers, ignoring his mother’s soft scolding to ‘stand straight, little leaf.’

_Little leaf. As though he were still a child! Honestly!_

“You should name Ninniach as heir,” Legolas said, desperately wishing that his calm, diplomatic elder sister was here. “She would rule well as Aranel, and Halborn would gladly serve as her consort.”

“And why, ion nin, can the same not be said of you?”

Legolas leaned his head against the door and bit down on a stream of profanity that very much wished to bubble forth.

Of course. Of course. It was his mother’s handiwork, he recognised it now, the trap enclosing swift and sure. The circlet in his father’s hand, the one which denoted the bearer’s status as the future ruler of the realm, was simply a way to force the issue. Because it always came back to that same question. _Is there no elleth in Mirkwood – aye, even in the three realms – that can turn your head, my son?_

And the offered answers to that question were even worse. 

_Legolas, surely you know Arwen Elrondiel…_

_This is Lalaith, her father is a carpenter…_

_This is Tauriel, her father is a forester…_

On and on and on, until he had been introduced to every maid over fifty within Mirkwood, and quite a few without. Unconsciously, his hand rose to where normally his knives would rest over his right shoulder. Arwen had been very gracious about the matchmaking. The same could not be said of every elleth.

“The same cannot be said, for there is no-one to whom I would be wed,” Legolas said, unable to keep the resignation from his voice.

Enough. He was Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, once Greenwood the Great. He was captain, scout, woodsman, and master archer. He would not yield this field again.

His mother’s eyes, blue as his own, locked with his. They were surprisingly gentle. “All we wish is your happiness,” she said softly. “For you to find the same strength and joy that Thranduil and I have. That Ninniach and Halborn have found.”

“Marriage would not be my strength or my joy, Naneth!” Legolas snapped, running his hand through his hair.

His father’s eyes blazed. “You will lower your hackles when you speak to your mother, Legolas,” he rumbled, teeth baring.

Legolas inhaled sharply, hauling back on his temper. “Forgive me, Adar.”

Thranduil nodded, brusque. “There is a party from Lórien coming to our halls–”

“No.” Legolas kept his voice courteous through will alone, driving over his father’s protest. “I will not pay court to any other maid when my heart bids me no. It is not fair to them, and it is not fair to me, when marriage would be not my strength and my joy, nor hers. It would be a cage, in which both I and whichever unfortunate declared my bride would perish. And perish she would, because I would not love her.”

“Why?” Thranduil exploded. “Is it that your eyes have been caught by an ellon instead? Explain yourself, Legolas!”

Legolas shook his head. “I am drawn neither to ellon nor elleth, Ada,” he said, his voice softening as realisation dawned. _They do not know. They truly do not know_. “Neither male nor female. For better or for worse, my heart is claimed already. All the love that I can possibly bear, I bear already for my friends, my family, and these woods. My heart belongs to the sky and the trees, the stars and the rivers, and it will not be reclaimed by any, maid or male.”

Thranduil took a long, deep breath, and then let it out.

“Perhaps,” came Galeniel’s soft voice. “I forget, sometimes, that by the measure of our people, you are young. We forget it, pressed as we are by the Darkness, that time is our inheritance, as the Eldar. Perhaps the situation may change, ion.”

Legolas clenched his fists, and saw his father’s eyes follow the movement. Surprisingly, they did not fill with anger at his son’s defiance. It was more…resignation, almost. But there was understanding there, too.

“We have heard you,” Thranduil said, at last. “Ninniach shall bear the diadem, and be named as heir.”

Legolas bowed, thankful for the curtain of hair that fell forward, out of its usual warrior braids.

“I thank you, my liege, my lady,” he said, hiding hope behind the veil of formality. _Is it at an end? Is the matchmaking to finally cease?_

His mother’s silvery chuckle filled the air. “None of that, little leaf. Go find your friends. I have no doubt they have been wondering what has become of you.”

For the first time since the confrontation had begun, Legolas smiled at his parents, stepping forward to hug them both.

“Hannon le, Ada, Nana,” he whispered.

Thranduil’s arms were tight around Legolas, even as he sighed. “So long as you’re happy, alive, and Mirkwood has an heir.”

Legolas muffled his chuckle into his father’s shoulder. The battle was as close to won as it would get.

So be it. You learned to take what victories you could, when your father was the Elvenking.


End file.
